


There’s No Devil (Just God when He’s Drunk)

by rosewiththorns



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Aftercare, Alcohol, Alcoholism, Detroit Red Wings, Discipline, Drinking, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Non-Sexual Submission, Paddling, Spanking, mentoring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-08
Updated: 2016-05-08
Packaged: 2018-06-07 01:46:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6780271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosewiththorns/pseuds/rosewiththorns
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hank is determined to put an end to Riley's drinking. Written per reader request.</p>
            </blockquote>





	There’s No Devil (Just God when He’s Drunk)

“Don’t you know there ain’t no Devil? It’s just God when He’s drunk.”—Tom Waits

There’s No Devil (Just God when He’s Drunk) 

Hank was asleep in his hotel room when a crash awakened him. Jolted out of his dream, he jerked upright in his bed and stared around the room for some sign of what had made the noise that had startled him out of his slumber, but, on a cursory inspection, everything appeared to be in order. 

The voice of someone trying to be quiet and failing dismally cut through his door from the hallway. “Damn it to hell, Smitty! How can you be so fucking clumsy, banging into that table and breaking that vase? We’ll be lucky if you didn’t wake up the whole hotel with that racket.” 

“I didn’t do it on purpose, Riley.” If anything, Brendan’s hiss of protest was louder than Riley’s accustation. 

“Mind if I join the powwow?” Hank yanked open his door and felt a flash of satisfaction when two flushed faces gaped at him with jaws wide enough to catch flies. Smelling the alcohol on their breaths, he observed, tart as a lemon, “You’ve been drinking.” 

“Thank you, Captain Obvious.” Riley, plainly intoxicated enough to have impaired risk assessment, rolled his eyes. 

“And people say I’m stupid.” Judging by the conspiratorial manner in which he leaned toward Riley’s ear, Brendan intended this to be a muttered comment for Riley’s entertainment alone, but Brendan’s volume control was so messed up that Hank could hear it just fine. 

Glowering, Hank jabbed a finger at the shards of the shattered porcelain vase gleaming in the light cast by the hallway’s glass chandelier. “You damaged hotel property. The pair of you can split the bill on that—“ 

“I didn’t break it,” interjected Riley. “Brendan did. It’s not fair that I should have to pay for his mistakes.” 

“You’re such an asshole, Riley,” Brendan retorted. “Are there any more busses you want to throw me under?” 

“Silence.” Hank held up a hand to curtail this nonsensical spat before he had to listen to another syllable of it. “Brendan, you’ll go down to the front desk, explain what happened, apologize for it, promise to clean it up, offer to pay for a replacement, and then make sure you pick up every piece of porcelain and get your butt in bed.” 

“Yes, Captain.” A cowed Brendan gave a swift nod and then scampered off to the elevator bank.

As Brendan departed, Riley swallowed, and then, clapping his hands together in an exaggeratedly cheery fashion, piped, “Well, as awesome as this conversation has been, I really should be getting to sleep, so I’ll just be going now…” 

“You’ll be going to have a discussion with me.” Hank grabbed Riley’s elbow and tugged him into his hotel room. Shutting the door behind him and flicking on the light switch, he glared down at Riley and demanded, “When you were caught driving drunk in a Tellytubby costume, didn’t you promise this organization that you would stop drinking, kid, or am I developing a very rich imagination?” 

“Fuck off,” growled Riley, twisting out of Hank’s clutches. “Did you really have to go there with the Tellytubby bit?” 

“Watch your mouth, and go take a shower to get the stench of beer off you.” With a searing swat to the seat of Riley’s jeans, Hank propelled Riley toward the bathroom. “While you’re in there, you’d better change your attitude, Riley, or you won’t want to sit for a week, and that’s not a threat; it’s a fact.” 

“Like you aren’t going to beat my ass even if I pucker up and kiss yours,” scoffed Riley, slamming and locking the bathroom door. 

Massaging his temples and collapsing into a lounge chair by the window, Hank reminded himself to take deep breaths so he could calm down and think aout the right way to discipline Riley. It was always wrong to punish from a place of anger rather than loving sternness. That was one of the most important lessons Steve Yzerman had taught him. Sinking back into the cushions, Hank let a memory of how Steve had dealt with a simliar situation wash over him, cleaning his mind and dousing him with wisdom…

“That was one wild elevator ride,” complained Hank as he stumbled out of the hotel’s elevator, his tipsy stomach on the verge of vomiting up the chicken wings and cheeseburger he had consumed between bottles of beer. Given that the burger and wings had been greasy when he first ate them, he didn’t think they would improve the second time he had them if he upchucked. 

“Walking harder than I remember,” grumbled Pavel, clinging to Hank’s arm for support as they wobbled down the hallway toward the room they shared, which felt a million miles away even though it was only five doors down. 

“Babs told us not to go out tonight,” hooted Hank, and since the thought struck both of them as the height of comedy, they burst into laughter that echoed off the walls, unmuffled by the flowery wallpaper. 

“You sure?” Pavel’s eyes widened innocently. “I not understand him. Just sound like grunts to me.” 

They shared another resounding laugh at Babcock’s expense, but, because neither of them were focused on keeping their balance as they hobbled down the hallway, they tripped over their own feet and crashed into a door two down from their own. 

As they rammed into the unyielding oak door, their situation became only more comical from their perspective, and Pavel, kneading his head where it had collided with the wood, quipped, “Lost a few brain cells but not enough so I understand Babs.” 

Hank was about to respond with a wisecrack of his own when the door yanked open, sprawling them onto a prickly carpet. 

“Hi, Stevie,” chirped Pavel, waving merrily up at the scowling man who was standing above them, casting a menacing shadow. “Hope you not mind us drop by.” 

“Pleasure bumping into you,” Hank added, drawing courage from Pavel’s flippant approach. 

“You won’t be saying that once I make it clear to you how much trouble you’ve landed yourselves in.” Steve’s eyes narrowed ominously as he hauled the pair of them upright and closed the door firmly behind them. “Words alone can’t convey my disapproval of your drunken antics, so I’ll be using something stronger.” 

“Vodka?” whispered Pavel playfully, cupping his hand as he leaned into the shell of Hank’s ear. 

“I heard that.” Steve’s sharp smack to the seat of Pavel’s pants made Hank wince in sympathy as Pavel sucked air through his teeth at the abrupt attack on his backside. “I’m not laughing, and I don’t think you should be either. Coach told us not to go out tonight, and that’s no joke.” 

“Coach is one giant joke,” Hank exploded before he could stop his tongue from embarking on this suicide mission. “We don’t like him and wish he’d never replaced Dave Lewis. Why should we do what he says, huh?” 

“Even if you don’t like a coach, you still have to respect and obey him.” Steve gave Hank’s shoulders a forceful shake as if to ensure Hank had grasped this crucial point. “Plenty of players didn’t like Scotty Bowman, but they still had to obey and respect him.” 

“Babs not half the coach great Scotty Bowman was.” Pavel folded his arms across his chest. 

“It doesn’t matter who the coach is,” countered Steve crisply. “Even if Bozo the Clown is hired as our coach, we have a standard of discipline to maintain. Nobody will be able to call this team undisciplined under my watch.” 

There was no argument Hank or Pavel could think to make against this statement. Quiet dominated the hotel room as Steve gave them time to process this declaration, and then he went on grimly, “I won’t tolerate either of you impugning the discipline of this team in such a way. I’ll be paddling you both to ensure nothing like this ever happens again. Pav, you’ll take a shower while I deal with Hank. Then Hank can take a shower while I deal with you.” 

“What?” stammered Hank, because while the idea of getting paddled was horrifying, it was even more terrifying to contemplate getting paddled alone and without the comfort of Pavel’s presence as a fellow sufferer. “You aren’t going to punish us together?” 

“Of course I’m not going to punish you together.” Steve frowned. “Why would you think I’d do that, Hank?” 

Hank had mainly been thinking that he could not bear to be paddled alone or to be showering when he knew that Pavel was being paddled, but that sounded lame, so he mumbled, “We got in trouble together, so I just thought we’d be disciplined together.” 

“I’ll be paddling your bare butts.” Steve’s tone was soft in contrast to the harsh punishment he promised to deliver. “I have enough respect for your dignity to do that in private.” 

“It is in private if it’s just Pav and me.” Hank’s face was on fire like his bottom would soon be. “We’re like one person.” 

“What do you say, Pav?” asked Steve, turning his attention to Pavel. 

“You the captain.” Pavel shrugged. “You decide punishment, not me.” 

“I’m asking your opinion so I can decide your punishment more fairly.” Steve’s gaze locked on Pavel’s. “You have a right to be paddled in private, but you have to tell me if that’s what you want.” 

“Hank seen my butt before.” Pavel squeezed Hank’s fingers between his own. “Want get this over with, Stevie.” 

“Very well. I’ll paddle you together.” Steve nodded briskly and then issued a stream of orders. “Lower your pants and underwear to your knees. Then bend over the side of the bed. You can grab a pillow to hold onto during the paddling.” 

Swapping resigned, miserable glances with Pavel, Hank complied with Steve’s commands as Pavel did the same and tried to pretend that he could not see or hear Steve removing a jar of ointment, which was placed on the nightstand, and a paddle from a suitcase. 

Face burrowed in the silk of the pillow he had snatched up, Hank felt more than saw Steve come up behind him, paddle poised to strike. Fumbling for Pavel’s hand and receiving an answering squeeze that was more nervous than reassuring, Hank felt his heart thudding in his throat as Steve stipulated, “You’re both getting six of the best. No squirming and no arguing. Keep your hands off your butts, because if I hit them by mistake, none of us will be happy.” 

Hank was noting inwardly that all these things were easier said than done when his train of thought was derailed by a swooshing sound followed by a blaze of pain flaring across his backside. 

He stifled a gasp and heard another crack of wood against flesh. The absence of new agony in his rump told him that Steve had wielded his paddle against Pavel this time, but there was barely a second to breathe before his rear was scorching after another strong smack. 

He whimpered as much because of the fire ignited in his hindquarters as because of the yelp that left Pavel’s mouth as the paddle tore into Pavel’s buttocks. 

The third swat brought tears trickling out of Hank’s eyes that became a river as he heard Pavel’s moan at his own third smack. Then he was drowning in an ocean of agony and salty tears as Steve’s paddle lanced into his sit-spots three times in rapid succession. Confident that neither he nor Pavel would be able to sit or move ever again, he flinched with each of the three stripes Steve’s paddle burned into Pavel’s sit-spots. 

“That’s over.” Steve had dropped his paddle and was rubbing a hand along each of their heaving backs. “You took your punishment well, learned a hard lesson, and now you’re forgiven.” 

Figuring that if Steve said the paddling was over, he was permitted to move, and not wanting to be touched by Steve right now, Hank, biting his lip in a desperate attempt to contain his sobs, wiggled away from Steve, who sighed and slipped his hand over to stroke Pavel’s hair, which was the only part of his head that was visible since his face was snuffling into his pillow. 

Pavel’s sniffles had faded before Steve murmured, “I’m going to rub ointment into your butts now. We don’t want you bruising.” 

Less than a minute later, cold cream was being massaged into Hank’s buttocks by Steve’s warm palms, and the balm was so soothing against his smoldering skin that he didn’t pull away from Steve’s touch. 

When Steve was satisfied that he had attended to every inch of Hank’s aching ass, he shifted his focus to Pavel’s rump, causing Pavel to squawk, “Stop, Stevie. I no need lotion on my butt. I not baby with diaper rash.” 

“Stay still.” Steve planted a palm in Pavel’s back, locking him in place, as the other hand kneaded lotion into his backside.

Once Steve had finished tending to Pavel’s rear, he attempted to draw Hank and Pavel to him, but while Pavel melted into Steve, Hank rolled away from Steve and tried to pretend that he couldn’t see Steve’s hand stroking the tears away from Pavel’s cheek. To distract himself from the comfort he could not bring himself to be a part of, Hank stared at the wretched paddle…

Pavel’s soft snores filled the room when Steve, mattress squeaking beneath him, shifted over to cuddle Hank, who finally relaxed in his grip, against his chest. Brushing his lips against Hank’s ear, Steve whispered, “One day you’ll probably be inheriting that paddle, you know, scamp. Use it well.” 

“I wouldn’t have a clue how.” Hank shivered at the notion of wielding that dread instrument of punishment. “Unless you mean as firewood, Stevie.” 

Steve chuckled but replied solemnly, “Never hit anywhere except the buttocks or upper thighs. Between three to six swats will usually do the trick, but even for the worst offenses, limit yourself to a dozen smacks. Always paddle on the bare, because if the offense isn’t severe enough to warrant that, a spanking is a better punishment anyway. Always rub ointment into the butt you punished, although you shouldn’t be hitting hard enough to cause bruising.” 

“Sounds easy to say but hard to do.” Hank pressed further into Steve’s embrace. 

“Being a leader is difficult.” Steve kissed Hank gently on the forehead in what felt almost like a benediction. “Not everyone is cut out for it, kid, but you are.” 

“You aren’t mad at me because I didn’t want to snuggle?” Hank burst out, finally voicing his worry that Steve would not approve of the fact that, unlike Pavel, who craved signs of affection and forgiveness after being disciplined, he wanted space to work things out in his head and handle his whirling emotions. 

“We’re snuggling right now, scamp.” Steve patted his shoulder. “Remember this discipline wasn’t about me and my needs. It was about you and Pav, and both your needs. The pair of you needed to be paddled, but, afterward, you needed to be treated differently. He needed tenderness and proof that I still loved him despite his misbehavior. You needed space to come to terms with what happened before you could accept my comfort. I love you both and try to meet both your needs.” 

“You understand Pav and me so well.” Hank gazed adoringly at Steve. 

“I do my best.” Steve’s lips quirked wryly. “Sometimes you two are incomprehensible even to me.” 

Hank smiled lopsidedly at the memory but did not have the opportunity to dwell on it as the sound of the bathroom door opening and closing pulled him back to the present. 

“Z.” Riley eyed him hesitantly. “I’m really sorry about the way I spoke to you. It was the alcohol, not me, acting that way.” 

“You can’t blame the alcohol for the things you do when it’s in you.” Hank sighed. “You bear the consequences for what you do, not the alcohol.” 

“What are you going to do?” Riley’s chin trembled. 

“I’m going to do you a favor.” Hank cupped Riley’s chin between his palms to soften the impact of his sentence as he announced Riley’s punishment. “I’m going to paddle you.” 

“Paddle me?” repeated Riley, and Hank couldn’t fault him for being astonished when Hank rarely used anything except his hand to discipline his charges. 

“You need a sharp dose of reality to break your attraction to alcohol.” Hank’s voice was uncompromising but not cruel. “That’s exactly what you’ll be getting, Riley, with six swats from the paddle, and if you ever have an issue like this again, it will be a full dozen.” 

“I’ve never been paddled before.” Tears were already welling in Riley’s eyes as he gazed at Hank. “I don’t know what to do.” 

“Bare your bottom and bend over the side of the bed.” Hank clasped Riley on the shoulder before withdrawing a paddle and a jar of ointment, which he put on the nightstand, from his duffel bag. 

Glancing over at the bed, he saw that Riley had complied with his command. Resting a firm palm on Riley’s tense back to keep him in position for his punishment, he said, stern because he did not wish to risk broken fingers, “Don’t try to cover your ass, kid. I’ll never aim for your hands, but if I hit them by mistake, the paddle will do more damage to them than it would to your backside.” 

“Yes, Captain.” Riley gripped the comforter so tightly that his knuckles shone white. “I’ll cooperate. I promise.” 

“Good.” Hank nodded his approval. Then, because he found speech a solid indicator that the person he was disciplining could handle another swat from the paddle, he ordered, “I want you to count every smack for me, Riley.” 

Riley bobbed his head in resigned affirmation, and Hank, steeling himself for an unpleasant duty, brought the first blow crashing against Riley’s rump. 

“One,” Riley gasped, and Hank had to avert his eyes from the scarlet stripe forming on Riely’s rear to find the strength to create another just below the first. 

“Two.” Riley’s word was more of a yelp. 

Hank, reminding himself that he had to be strict with Riley so they would not end up in this awful position again, hammered the paddle against Riley’s flesh for a third time. 

“Three.” Hank could hear the tears in Riley’s tone. 

Telling himself that the paddling was halfway done, Hank smashed the horrible instrument into Riley’s sit-spots. 

Riley buried his face in the comforter but managed to rasp out, “Four.” 

After five, Riley needed a moment to recover from the cries that began to rip through him before he could offer the count, and, after six, he surrendered entirely to sobs that shook his full frame. 

Tossing aside his paddle, Hank let the palm that had been keeping Riley in place throughout the duration of his discipline rub calming circles between Riley’s heaving shoulder blades while the other ruffled his hair. “The paddling is in the past now, Riley. I know it hurts, but it helped you learn an important lesson.” 

“Yeah.” Riley lifted his head to bestow on Hank a watery, tremulous grin. “No more drinking for me.” 

“Good boy.” Hank patted his cheek and then picked up the jar of ointment. “I’m going to rub some lotion into your ass now to make sure you won’t get any bruises from this.” 

When Hank began to massage the balm into his butt, Riley gasped, “Oh, that’s cold, Z!” 

“I know.” Hank continued his delicate ministrations. “It doesn’t feel good, but sometimes you need pain to heal. Think of how much it stings to clean a cut but how much worse an infection would be.” 

“Or how much worse alcoholism would be than a paddling?” suggested Riley dryly, and Hank smiled at how well Riley had learned his lesson. 

“Exactly.” Hank screwed the lid back onto the jar of ointment, returned it to the nightstand, and stroked Riley’s back. “I love you too much to let the bottle swallow you, because whatever you’re seeking in the bottle, scamp, you’re better off finding outside of it.”


End file.
